


a bed too large

by almostannette



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mail Order Brides, Percival takes out an ad in the newspaper, Set in the 1880s, Smut, and credence writes back, and it's all going great, epistolary element, except for when percival wants to meet him, frontier life, pretending to be a young woman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21697819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almostannette/pseuds/almostannette
Summary: Sometimes, when he could be sure that he would not be discovered, Credence took out the photograph of Percival and looked at it, sometimes even going so far as to trace the man’s features with the tips of his fingers.He’d spent some nights wishing he were indeed Claire, not Credence. If he were a woman instead of a man, there would be no need to deceive Percival, and they could indeed get married. Credence thought he wouldn’t mind it - running the household for Percival, sharing a bed with him at night, bearing him a few children. If only…
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 24
Kudos: 278





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written earlier this year - it was inspired by a few articles on mail order brides in the west in the 1800s. Essentially, Credence comes across an ad in a newspaper and replies to the ad on a whim. He's very surprised when he gets a reply...
> 
> The title is taken from a track on the Once Upon a Time in the West soundtrack.

Credence had acquired the newspaper while his mother had unsuccessfully tried to persuade Mr. Shaw to publicize her stories about the dangers of witchcraft and magic. Nobody wanted to read stories about evil witches when the country was facing much more real and divisive questions, Mr. Shaw had said when he rejected Ma’s story.

Credence had smuggled a newspaper out of the building, hiding it under his jacket. Thankfully, Ma hadn’t noticed it.

The newspaper was _exciting_. Credence read the articles once, twice, thrice even, hungry for information.

After a while, he came across some ads that would have made Ma blush first and vociferate later. ‘Mail Order Brides’ was the term commonly used, but according to Ma, the women who went to the lawless west didn’t do so in order to get married to honest men, but rather to live as the concubines of two or more men. However, Credence didn’t think the ads sounded like that at all. One of them read:

_Bachelor, 39 years of age, 5 ft 10 in, 176 lbs, Irish, people say I’m good-looking, some means. Looking for a hard-working partner to share a house and bed with, but cannot offer many luxuries. Object matrimony._

Looking back on it years later, Credence couldn’t say why he’d decided to reply to that particular ad. He knew that it had possibly been the best decision he’d ever made - maybe it had been divine intervention that prompted him to pick up a pen and reply to the ad:

_Dear Sir,_

_I’m writing in response to the ad you posted in the New York Clarion. I’m a modest young woman of 21 years, seeking a better life away from the city. I have dark hair, brown eyes - I’m quite tall and slender. I’m an orphan, so I don’t have any means. In your ad, you wrote that you were good-looking. I have to be honest with you, Sir, and admit that I’m not much to look at. However, since you also wrote that you were not looking for a beautiful wife but for a hard-working one, I can assure you, I’m no stranger to toil and hard labor. In addition to that, I’m well accustomed to a life of frugality, so I don’t need any luxuries - if I have a roof over my head, some food on my plate, and a bed to sleep in, I’ll be content._

_Sir, I’d be honored if you considered replying to me, a simple city girl who’d love to hear more from you._

_Yours faithfully,_

_Claire B._

* * *

Credence carried the letter to the post office the next day while he was completing his usual route, trying to hand out leaflets to the passersby. He didn’t like to admit it, but he’d taken the money to pay for postage from the donations to the church. He reasoned with himself that he’d paid the comparatively negligible price of the postage in blood and tears over the years anyway, but he made sure to only serve himself half portions at meals for a week, in a weak attempt to atone for his crime. According to Ma, he was going to burn in hell anyway, for being wicked and sinful, but Credence thought he might at least try.

Then again, wasn’t pretending to be an eligible young woman a sin as well? Wasn’t he using the man who’d taken out the newspaper ad for his own selfish goals?

Credence decided not to think about it - it had been a stupid idea, borne out of desperation and helplessness. Necessity was the mother of invention, or so people said at least. There was no way he’d get a reply, so he decided not to think about it.

However, a few weeks later, there was a letter in the mail addressed to a certain ‘Miss Claire B.’ - Credence hid it under his mattress and spent the whole day thinking about the letter. Only at night, when everyone in the house was fast asleep, did Credence dare to open the letter with trembling fingers.

* * *

_Dear Claire,_

_Imagine my delight to receive a letter so soon after posting an ad. I was surprised to receive a reply at all, to be honest._

_You wrote that you’re a hard-working girl - may I ask about your profession? What sort of skills do you have?_

_I have to admit, I was surprised to read about your age - compared to me, you seem very young. Do you really want to tie yourself to an old man like me? I’m not disinclined to marry you, but I’d like to make sure that you really don’t mind the age difference. I’ve decided to enclose a photograph of myself, so you may decide for yourself whether I look pleasing to you or not - I must warn you, though, the photograph is a few years old. When you see me in person, expect more gray hair and crow’s feet. You will see that I count as good-looking here on the frontier, where life is hard and manners are coarse. I do hope you’re not disappointed, I’m sure you’re used to seeing many dashing gentlemen every day in New York City - I can hardly compare._

_I hope it’s not too forward to say so, but if it’s at all possible, I would like to ask you to send a photograph of yourself as well._

_I’m anxiously awaiting your reply._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Percival Graves_

* * *

Credence reread the letter, tracing the handwriting on the missive. Somehow, having a letter made it so much more real - when all he’d had was the newspaper ad, it hadn’t felt like he was corresponding with a real person. Now, though, he had a name, no, he had even more than that.

Percival Graves had sent him a photograph.

The photograph showed a good-looking man in his mid-thirties. He had a full head of dark hair, strong eyebrows over dark eyes, a straight nose, and thin lips. For all that Percival had written about the dashing gentlemen of New York City, Credence was certain that he’d only rarely seen men who were as attractive as Percival. Maybe the Senator, when he’d visited the newspaper office, but neither his good name nor his fine clothes could have hidden the fact that he was a mean-spirited person. Percival, on the other hand, only had kind words for Credence…

Well, for ‘Claire’.

Credence decided to ignore his guilty conscience and wrote back the next day.

* * *

_Dear Sir,_

_It’s safe to say I was equally surprised to get a reply from you. It was a pleasant surprise, though, so thank you for your letter._

_To answer your first question: My adoptive mother runs an orphanage and a charity organization. I’ve helped her ever since I was old enough to work. I can run a household, take care of children, and make all sorts of repairs around the house. In addition to that, I’m a fast learner when it comes to chores and, as I wrote in my previous letter, I’m not one to shy away from hard labor. I’m confident I can learn to perform just about any task you could think of as long as I receive proper instruction._

_I feel the need to thank you for sending that photograph of yours - you needn’t be so modest, by the way, I can assure you that you’d be considered attractive not only in the West but also in New York City. That is to say, I find your appearance very pleasing, indeed. (I can hardly believe I wrote that - Sir, you made me blush without even talking to me in person!) I understand your request for a photograph, but I’m afraid I can’t send you one. Having a photograph taken costs a lot of money - money that I don’t have. (I’ve heard some photographers make exceptions for extraordinarily pretty girls, but I’m not one of those.)_

_Sir, believe me when I say that I couldn’t care about something so trivial as the age difference between the two of us if you only treat me with respect and without cruelty. Because that would be my one condition - I don’t need luxuries and I can make do without much comfort, but I want to be treated right. I’m looking for a kind husband and reliable partner, not a cruel master. I implore you, be honest with me - if you cannot guarantee that you won’t mistreat me, then I won’t be able to marry you._

_Forgive me, Sir, I got carried away in the last paragraph. So far, my life has not been easy, and I would like to have a husband who makes me feel safe, not one I have to fear._

_If you are still interested in possible matrimony, please write back soon._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Claire B._

* * *

Sometimes, when he could be sure that he would not be discovered, Credence took out the photograph of Percival and looked at it, sometimes even going so far as to trace the man’s features with the tips of his fingers.

He’d spent some nights wishing he were indeed Claire, not Credence. If he were a woman instead of a man, there would be no need to deceive Percival, and they could indeed get married. Credence thought he wouldn’t mind it - running the household for Percival, sharing a bed with him at night, bearing him a few children. If only…

As it was, Percival thought he was corresponding with a young woman, not a beaten and broken boy who nobody looked at twice. Credence was almost grateful for the letters - perhaps for the first time in his life, it felt like someone saw him, someone recognized him as a person. If he’d met Percival on the street, he was sure that the man wouldn’t have given him a second look, all too content to ignore the gaunt, sallow-faced boy unsuccessfully trying to distribute hateful propaganda.

If witches truly existed, Credence wondered why they didn’t strike Ma down - they had magic, surely they were powerful enough to do that?

Then again, if God truly existed, why had he never listened to Credence’s prayers?

He bit the inside of his cheek, hard, to punish himself for blasphemy like that. If Ma could have heard his thoughts, he would have gotten twenty lashes with his own belt for such a demonstration of insolence. If Ma was to be believed, his soul was beyond redemption anyway, but Credence still tried to atone, trying to read scripture so he wouldn’t think about Percival and his qualities as a husband.

It was a proof of his depravity that Credence managed to find sinful verses in the bible. _Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is more delightful than wine. My beloved is mine and I am his._

“Let him kiss me,” Credence mouthed, not daring to pronounce the words out loud. “My beloved is mine and I am his.”

With a start, Credence realized his eyes were burning with unshed tears. He furiously wiped at them with the back of his hand. He felt an acute absence of something but didn’t have the words to describe it. Not knowing why he was weeping, Credence closed the bible before curling up on his small, uncomfortable bed, wrapping his arms around himself. He could cry soundlessly, Ma saw it as a sign of weakness so he’d long ago learned to suppress sobs…

He so desperately wished he could be Claire instead, could trade his sorry existence for that of the girl he’d invented. Then he wouldn’t have to keep lying to Percival, he wouldn’t disappoint Percival when he met him, and he would be able to keep the promise of marriage.

The easiest solution would be to not reply to Percival’s next letter - or write that ‘Claire’ had found a better match in New York City. Credence knew he wasn’t strong enough to do that because ever since Percival had sent him the photograph, he wanted nothing more in life than to see that beautiful man in person at least once.

* * *

_Dear Claire,_

_I’m relieved to hear that my appearance is no deterrent for you, so to speak. To be perfectly honest, I used to think that the days during which I could make young ladies blush were long gone - thank you for making me feel young again. To know that the age difference won’t be a problem for you, either, is good to hear as well._

_Please, rest assured that mistreating you is the last thing on my mind. As your husband, I would consider myself obliged to take care of you and ensure your well-being. I would do my utmost to keep you safe - life is not easy here, but I’m sure you encounter your fair share of hardships in the city, too. Of course I will strive to treat you right, Claire._

_In the bible, it says that “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.” Marriage is a promise to love and protect one another, isn’t it? I know that I will protect you to the best of my abilities, and I believe that we will learn how to love each other, should we get married. Judging from your letters, you sound like a nice young woman with a good character, and I’m grateful that you chose to engage in this exchange of letters._

_Naturally, I understand that you weren’t able to have your photograph taken - it is costly to do so, I quite agree. However, now I’m wondering how I might recognize you when we meet each other in person._

_Please reply soon!_

_Yours,_

_Percival_

_PS: There is no need to keep calling me ‘Sir’, Claire. I know you’re probably just trying to be polite, but I’d prefer it if you started using my given name._

* * *

_Dear_ _Sir_ _Percival,_

 _You’re a handsome man, why would your appearance be a_ _deterrent_ _for me? If anything, it’s an additional incentive. (There, again! I blushed while writing this, too - if you have this effect on me in letters already, I can hardly imagine what it’s going to be like when I finally get to meet you. I suppose I’ll truly be a blushing bride.)_

_And thank you, that is reassuring. I have to admit, I haven’t experienced much kindness in my life, so the idea that this all might change soon is exciting for me. I don’t expect life to be easy, and you’re right, city life can certainly be hard as well, but if we can rely on each other, then I don’t see why we wouldn’t be able to make a marriage work. I love that passage from the bible - I’ve read and reread it many times ever since I received your letter, and I think I know it by heart now. I’ll try to live by it, and I hope you’ll do so, too._

_Percival, you don’t need to recognize me. I’ll recognize you - I have your photograph, don’t you remember? To prove my identity, I can show you the letters you sent to me, so you’ll know that it’s me you’re speaking to. If you want to meet me in person, that is. All this time we’ve been talking about marriage, but I don’t believe we ever asked each other if we really want to get married. Is it your intention to get engaged, then? Do you want me to travel in order to meet you in person? And if yes, when? I’d be ready to go whenever. Nothing ties me to New York City, the only thing I’d leave behind are unhappy memories._

_Please write back soon! (Did I mention that your letters always brighten my day?)_

_Yours,_

_Claire B._

* * *

_Dear Claire,_

_As you can see, I didn’t simply send a letter this time. First of all, I’ve enclosed a ring - it’s a family heirloom. The monetary value is much lower than the sentimental value, I have to admit. Once upon a time, it belonged to my mother and to her mother before that. It’s the closest I can give you to an engagement ring. Please know that it would bring me great joy if you wore it - and it’d help me recognize you when we meet for the first time._

_Speaking of meeting each other, I have been to the station and purchased a train ticket for you - the date is still a while in the future, because I wanted to give you time to decide whether you want to travel to meet me or not. If you don’t want to, feel free to send back the ring and the ticket - I won’t be cross with you should you decide not to meet me after all._

_My dear girl, I know this must all seem rather abrupt to you, but since you wrote that you could leave New York City at any time, I thought to myself: Why wait? I have a good feeling when it comes to you - if you feel the same way about me, then please take the train so I may embrace my bride-to-be._

_Believe me when I say that I’m most anxiously awaiting your reply._

_Yours,_

_Percival_

* * *

Credence turned the ring over in his hand, feeling honored, proud and ashamed all at once. Holding his breath, he tried to put it on, but of course, it was a ring meant for a woman and so he could barely fit it over the tip of his ring finger.

Even if the ring had fit him, he wouldn’t be able to wear it. Ma would insist that he’d stolen it and he could hardly explain that he’d somehow gotten engaged to a man hundreds of miles away. He still wanted to have the ring close to him, though, so he used a piece of string and fashioned it into a crude necklace, wearing the ring as a pendant under his shirt.

When he felt lonely during the day, he’d touch his chest, feel the ring rest against his skin, and he’d be able to breathe easier for a few moments.

* * *

_Dearest Percival,_

_My heart skipped a beat when I saw that you sent me a train ticket - and a ring, too! These days, I feel like I can hardly contain my happiness. I’m counting down the days, and it seems each day passes more slowly than the previous one, because_ _of course_ _I will take the train to see you. I don’t care if people think it might be too early to make a decision as important as marriage. You’re right, I have a good feeling when it comes to you, too._

_I just hope that you’ll still like me when you meet me in person - as we’ve already established, you’re a handsome man and I just can’t compete with you in that department. I’m confident that I can make up for my lack of good looks with other skills, but still… a part of me is terrified that you’ll turn me away once we meet in person. Forgive me, Percival, I don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you, but it seems so surreal that a man like you would be interested in me._

_I promise, I’ll do my best not to be so downtrodden anymore - you’ve sent me a ring after all, and I must admit that it brings me great comfort to know that somewhere out there, you’re thinking of me. Still, when I think about the day I’m supposed to get on the train to leave New York City once and for all, I get nervous until my stomach is in knots. I’ll still take the train, don’t worry, but I have to warn you - I might just faint when I finally see you in person due to excitement and worry._

_Yours,_

_C._

* * *

The day he was supposed to depart, Credence woke up even earlier than usual, and packed all his meager belongings into a small suitcase. He left the church in the morning like it was any other day, ostensibly to hand out leaflets, but when he knew that Ma had gone out to buy groceries, he snuck back into the church, got his suitcase and left a note for Modesty, telling her that he was sorry, that he loved her and that she should try not to get into trouble.

He picked up his suitcase and left the church with a sigh, hopefully for the last time ever.

It didn’t take him long to find his train, and when it started moving, pulling out of the station towards an uncertain future, Credence was so nervous, he could hardly breathe.

What would await him once he met Percival at the station? How would Percival react when he learned he’d been duped? Credence had simply been desperate, and Percival had seemed like such a nice man in his letters.

If Credence hadn’t been so terrified of meeting Percival, he would have realized that a good-looking, considerate man like Percival wasn’t only able to charm girls like Claire, but could easily steal the hearts of boys like Credence, too.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percival goes to the train station to meet Claire and is surprised when he finds a shy young man instead...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: This fic was planned as a collab. This chapter was not written by me (almostannette), but by a friend who wishes to remain anonymous. This chapter also includes explicit sexual content.

Percival arrives at the train station running a bit late, terrified he’s already made a bad impression. As he walks towards the platform he knows Claire will be at, he keeps his eyes open. 

He smiles at every dark-haired lady who passes him or glances his way.

Percival’s smile continues to fade as they all keep walking, or fall into some other man's arms. 

Eventually, he reaches the end of the platform, and there’s no sign of a demure, modestly natured young lady clutching a small bag or suitcase of her only belongings in the world. 

Percival makes another lap of the stretch; scouring every bench, each semi-hidden corner of the brick walls. 

After he’s surely made a fool of himself, the only unpaired figure he sees is a young man with an unflattering bowl cut huddled beside one bench, rather than sitting on it. 

Percival blinks, smiles softly, and keeps walking. The lad is probably just waiting for a lady love of his own. 

As Percival comes up empty again, he vents his frustration and kicks a pebble off the edge of the concrete. 

A split second later, someone is calling his name, politely, before he turns around, and spots that same boy. 

Percival straightens up from where he’s hunched over, noting how the lad is taller than him by an inch or so.

He puts on a polite smile. "Can I help you, son?" 

A faint blush colors the boy’s cheeks, or perhaps it's simply from the harsh cold winds. On the platform, it’s more than a little windy and this close to evening, the temperature is dropping fast.

"I hope so, Mister Graves?"

Percival startles. Somehow this young man knows his name? 

Before he can question how this is possible, he sees a hand with slender fingers dipping into the small bag that the boy is holding. A bundle of letters emerges in a white-knuckled grip. 

“You wrote to me in New York. I hope you won’t be too angry. I was just… desperate to escape my mother. The future she desired for me was not pleasant. You seemed so nice, I can only beg for your forgiveness, sir.” 

Percival eyes the lad, as everything suddenly falls into place.

It all makes sense now.

He hasn’t seen any shy ladies on the platform, because there _is_ no Claire, only this fragile, beaten down looking boy. Percival cannot possibly be angry at him, how could he?

The mail-order bride he’s been expecting has turned out to be far more beautiful than he could have imagined. God has not let him down. Not in the least.

For the last few days, Percival has been picturing a tall, slim and pale girl, kept inside most of her life, loyal to the church she was raised in, perhaps with one single braid keeping her dark hair out of her face.

A young woman with a plain face, the letters had said.

Percival shakes his head, this boy is too modest. He reaches out and sees a flinch of dread. 

It makes something in his chest ache. “You are safe with me, I swear it. Please, what is your real name?”

The boy sighs and swallows, the movement of his throat catching Percival’s attention. 

“Credence, sir. Credence Barebone. I did not deceive you about my surname. Merely my identity. But I still can do my best to be a good partner for you. I can cook, clean, and keep a house.” He reaches into the front of his shirt, and pulls out a crude string necklace, upon which rests the ring that Percival sent Claire. 

It sparkles in the late afternoon sun, and he relaxes. This is not a big hoax. Credence _is_ here for Percival.

“Credence. It is a pleasure to meet you. I can assure you, it does not diminish my affection for you, that you are not of a feminine persuasion. But please, let us discuss this somewhere… away from prying eyes.” 

Credence looks startled, but he nods and follows as Percival begins to lead them off the platform, towards his horse-drawn carriage. With the boy having only the one bag, it is an easy journey, and upon arriving at Percival’s ranch, he can see that Credence is a touch more comfortable, no longer in such a crowded and public space. 

He walks the boy around the inside of the house, giving him a makeshift tour, ending rather awkwardly at the bedroom, along with the impossible to miss one and only bed. 

Credence splutters that he is happy to sleep on the floor, and will not trouble Percival for anything.

“Nonsense. Until you are able to stand being so close to me, _I_ shall be the one to keep a distance. You can sleep here, in the bed. I’ll be fine. There is a perfectly nice couch in my living room space.” 

Percival smiles, though he knows it doesn’t meet his eyes, and Credence frowns.

“You should not concern yourself with my comfort, sir. I will be as accommodating as I can.” 

Percival itches to correct the boy on how formally he continues to address him, but he can barely get out a “Don’t worry about-” before Credence is stepping into his space, taking one of his hands, and placing it on the side of his neck. 

“I am yours, to do with as you wish. Tell me what I must do.” Credence says quietly, and Percival’s first instinct is to say “Let me hold you and kiss you as I’ve dreamed of for days,” but he is a _responsible_ man. 

He has only _just_ met Credence officially. 

The boy has to be tired, needs to settle in, recover from the travel fatigue. 

Percival himself needs a moment to himself to think, to maybe indulge with a glass of liquor. 

The bible encourages the drinking of wine, after all. What is whiskey except a bit stronger? 

“Credence… I don’t want you to do anything you don’t. Whatever you think I expect of you, please cast it aside. I am the same man who wrote to you in those letters. I am lonely, and so very grateful to have been gifted with your correspondence. All I desire is to hold you, as I have said.” Percival watches Credence carefully, gaging his reaction, and the boy doesn’t move as he puts both arms around his slim waist.

Slowly, Credence’s arms raise to embrace him in return, and the boy’s head droops down to nestle on his shoulder, in the crook of his neck. 

“Thank you. I did not know what I would have done if you had rejected me. I worried, for the whole train ride here.” Credence’s voice trembles and Percival’s hand shakes as he lifts it to cradle the back of the boy’s head, tenderly caressing his nape, and feeling the soft fuzz of his short hairs.

“It’s alright.”

* * *

As it happens, Credence does not end up sleeping for very long, and in fact, ventures out from the little nest Percival saw him make very carefully atop the blankets of his bed around an hour later, finding him drinking in his library, as a fire burns down to almost nothing in the grate at his feet. “Here, let me fix that,” Credence says. 

He drops to his knees, and pokes at the logs, stoking the flames, making the blaze return to proper strength. 

Percival looks at him in the soft glow of the fire and knows, deep down, his feelings have not changed. If anything, they have evolved. The last time he had any sort of relations with a man had been in the army. 

Almost a decade ago.

Theseus.

Someone Percival has missed on many a long, lonely night. 

He thought that marrying a woman who needed a way out would help him, would redeem him in a way. 

But now, he knows better. Loving anyone is not a sin. Love itself is a virtue. 

Credence, is, was, and seems as if he will always be easy to love. Percival watches the boy move from the floor up to a chair, wrapping his arms around the knees tucked into his chest, utterly endearing with his sock-clad feet, wiggling a little. He’s nervous. Probably a little scared too. Far away from home, with a virtual stranger.

Maybe more than a little then. Credence looks over at him and blinks. “What now?” he asks, voice soft.

Percival bites the inside of his cheek, swirling the last sip of whiskey in his glass, almost absentmindedly.

“I thought maybe we could have some dinner. I prepared some delicious venison the other day, there’s plenty left over, along with some fresh greens from my garden. Does that sound alright to you?”

Credence nods. “Yes, sir. Thank you. From tomorrow on, you won’t have to cook for me. Whatever you have to be worked with in your pantry and kitchen, I’ll make it for _you_. I want to be useful.” The way he says it breaks Percival’s heart.

“I don’t need you to be _useful_ , Credence. I’m very capable of taking care of myself, and you. I’m a grown man. What I seek from you is companionship. I want to get to know you. Not the packhorse that your mother seems to have treated you like. Let me in, please.” The drink is making him ramble, forcing him to be emotional, and Credence looks stunned. As if he’s been in disbelief all along, through all the letters. 

Percival is _desperate_ to prove himself. So he does something drastic. 

He sets the empty glass down and gets out of his chair. But he doesn’t walk over to Credence, no, he crawls. 

It’s more of a slow shuffle, though it gets the point across. 

Credence sits up, puts his feet on the floor and stares at him with wide eyes. 

“What are you doing?” His voice comes out like a squeak, and Percival smiles, dopey and wide, gazing up at him. Both his hands settle on Credence’s thighs, and he nudges them open, feeling the slight resistance. 

“Consider this my official, in-person proposal. You already have the ring and my heart. Give me the chance to earn yours. To deserve it. Please, Credence.” Percival’s knees already hurt from this position, but he’s not moving until Credence gives him an answer. He bites his bottom lip until it feels like it may bleed, but at last, the boy straightens up, and sighs, nodding slowly. 

“Yes, yes of course. I came here to pledge myself to you, body and soul, before God. I am yours….”

Percival finishes the verse. It’s one of his favorites, from the most erotic book in the whole bible. “And you are mine.”

Credence touches him, a hand stroking his cheek, then fingertips drift up, petting through his hair, and Percival’s eyes fall shut, as he leans into it, nuzzling the boy’s palm with his face. 

He turns his head and kisses the center of it and Credence gasps softly. 

It’s almost too quiet to hear… almost.

Upon opening his eyes, he catches how dark the boy’s have gone. Blown dark, brown vanishes into black. 

Credence licks his lips very quickly, and Percival swallows a strangled noise, like a moan. God forgive him. 

He wants this boy to _ruin_ him. 

Credence locks his gaze with him, and Percival gets to his feet slowly, shaky, but sure. 

He holds out a hand, helping the boy up to his feet, and they crash together, another embrace, far more intimate, with weight. 

Percival’s lips part the instant they meet Credence’s, and he tastes like fresh air, somehow, impossibly. 

The boy whimpers, moans a split second later, as Percival’s free hand curls around his back, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, and clinging to him for dear life. Credence breaks the kiss to breathe,

“I don’t know what to do. _How_ to please you...but God forgive me, I want to. So badly.” 

A shiver runs down Percival’s spine, and he feels warmth pooling in his gut. Long dormant arousal is stirring to life, and all from innocent words, Credence’s gentle eagerness making him as hard as he’s ever been from a lady of the evening propositioning him in the street. 

“I’m sorely tempted to suggest we skip dinner in favor of retiring,” Percival says, voice rough, coming out gravely. Credence chases after him, taking another kiss, and he grants it, with great pleasure. 

They fumble out of the library, down the hall, towards Percival’s bedroom, towards _their_ bedroom, and Credence’s hand slips under the hem of his vest. 

His fingers inadvertently tease over Percival’s stomach, making him inhale sharply, from his first exploring contact. Credence’s moves come to a shuddering halt when Percival lowers his head to kiss his neck. He almost laughs, and the boy just grabs onto him harder, rocking his hips forward, so their groins suddenly touch. Percival nearly falls over at the feel of how _hard_ Credence is. “God, you feel-” He breaks off.

Credence lets out a broken sound, almost a groan. “Please Percival, I need you.”

The first use of his name, his real, proper name. He could cry with joy. 

“Yes, yes my boy. Anything. What can I do?”

Credence swallows so close to him, he can hear the movement of the boy’s throat. “Take me to bed.”

Percival is only too happy to comply. 

Once in his room, after shoving aside the extra blanket Credence had been napping on, he lays the boy down on the bed, and carefully untucks his shirt, fingering open the buttons, revealing miles more pale skin, nearly translucent with the bluish veins, freckles, and even some pinkish-white lines that make his stomach lurch.

“Who did this to you?” Percival whispers.

Credence shakes his head, tears forming in his eyes. “Please, don’t make me talk about this, not now.”

Percival cannot hope to make love to this creature if he knows that he might hurt him. 

He could not live with himself. “Forgive me. When you’re ready. For now, let me help you understand how much I care for you.” 

His lips press gently into Credence’s sternum, and he trails his kisses down, parting the fabric, taking the path least traveled. He relishes every gasp, each low groan, Percival locks them away in his memory, of this moment, their first shared encounter, until his chin rubs the edge of Credence’s belt. 

Hands scrabble for a hold, one in his hair, tight, hard, pulling almost painfully, the other grasping at Percival’s shoulder, not quite pushing him away. 

Credence’s hips buck up, and Percival uses both of his own hands to slowly unbuckle the belt, freeing it from the loops of the boy’s trousers, then he stops, throwing it aside while meeting those dark eyes. “Okay?”

He gets a nod in reply, and Percival keeps going. Swirls of black hair at the center of Credence’s hips peek out from under the line of his underwear, kissing their way up to right below his navel. 

Percival dips his tongue in there, just to get a reaction. It’s a soft whine, and then he feels the boy breathe in, watching his stomach tremble before he dares move lower. 

Nosing down past the edge of his trousers, until the obvious bulge of Credence’s cock is obscene, and Percival can fairly smell the salt, how excited he is. “I’ve never… no one has-”

“It’s alright. You don’t have to impress me with your stamina. You’re a complete virgin, right?” Percival asks, mainly for clarification. It shouldn’t make him feel so proud, so lucky, but it does. Some sort of primal instinct, deep down, reminding him he’s the first and only witness to Credence’s pleasure, outside of God. “Yes.”

So Percival continues. 

He tongues the slit, right over the thin fabric, until it’s damp with saliva, clinging to the boy’s sensitive skin, and Credence is squirming beneath his mouth, frantic in his hold, pushing Percival’s head closer, just shy of begging. He pulls the boy’s underwear out of the way, and takes him in between his lips with no hesitation, very aware that Credence is circumcised by the feel and weight of the head on his tongue. 

Percival lets him fuck into his throat, aware of how quickly he’ll likely lose himself in the sensations, having only experienced his own hand, if that. Going off how his home life sounds, perhaps Credence has been abstaining from self-pleasure. If the bible can be misinterpreted so many ways, that could be one too. Demonizing the satisfaction one gets from life.

Percival’s hands grip gentle, but firm on the boy’s slender bony hips, ensuring he can’t retreat too far when he starts to come. 

Credence’s orgasm seems to hit him like a train, out of the blue, and verses of praise spill from his lips, mingling with Percival’s name, before tapering off into heavy gasps, settling when his cock ceases pulsing out his release. 

Percival swallows, and carefully pulls off Credence’s softening length, not wishing to overwhelm him, while petting a hand up over his stomach, caressing his skin, reaching higher, feeling the way the boy’s pulse races. 

“I hope that felt as good as it sounded,” he says.

“Yes, Percival, thank you,” Credence murmurs. It feels like a blessing.

His hand strokes the boy’s naked hip, and he ducks down, rubbing his cheek on Credence’s chest, before stretching up to kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“What would you like? A bath? A glass of water? What can I get you?” Percival whispers into the side of his neck.

Credence hums. “I don’t even know what to ask for. It feels greedy. I want to please you too.”

Percival’s cock is heavy, hot, insistent against the seam of his pants, but something in him makes him want to protest, though he would like very much to instruct Credence on how best to penetrate him. “You don’t have-”

 _To do anything_ , he means to say, but Percival is interrupted by a sudden and forceful kiss, right on the lips, and the boy’s tongue thrusts into his mouth, surely catching a taste of himself. 

Credence is insistent, reaching a hand down to the waist of his pants, rubbing those long fingers over the length of Percival’s aching cock, tugging the fastenings open, and slipping his fingers inside. 

With quick, frantic jerks, the boy’s hand strokes over him, the slickness of his own arousal easing the way, and Percival has to break the kiss to pant into the side of Credence’s neck, a rush of pleasure zipping through his veins, hypnotizing him beyond measure. Even if this is all Credence has ever done, he’s very good at it, twirling his wrist at the head, using a thumb to swipe at the underside.

“Percival, is it good for you?” he asks, sounding desperate, and Percival can only answer in the affirmative, shivering apart mere minutes later, thrusting up to meet every push down of Credence’s fist. 

He comes with a shout and apologizes for being so loud, and messy, as soon as his heartbeat stops racing. Credence’s fingers are sticky with Percival’s cooling semen, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or care, that is. 

He pulls his hand back, and immediately puts it to his mouth, licking away the white strands. 

Percival almost has a heart attack from that. “What-!”

Credence looks guilty for a split second, before blushing pink to the tips of his ears. 

“Getting rid of the evidence.” Percival gulps down a blasphemous curse and shakes his head wearily. 

“While I appreciate that, the best thing to do is properly clean up.”

* * *

A nice hot bath is in order, and Percival runs it while shedding his now filthy trousers, and tossing away his shirt. Credence is shy at first, but then gladly drinks in the sight of him, eyes lingering on his chest, then down the length of his body. “There’s a lot of grey hair, I did warn you,” Percival says, that self-deprecation sneaking into his tone, unbidden. He can’t really help it. Credence’s staring is making him nervous. 

Perhaps now the boy will see all his wrinkles and war-torn scars and realize what he’s getting into. 

Credence toys with the gleaming ring around his neck, and shrugs. “You’re very handsome, Percival. I mean it.”

He smiles, still more than a touch self-conscious. “Thank you, Credence.” 

The bathwater is burning over his skin, a gentle but cleansing sort of liquid fire, and Percival takes great pride in scrubbing the boy’s back, kissing the line of his shoulder, all the way up the arch of his neck and down the other side. Credence shivers when the water has gone cold, and by then, Percival’s stomach is growling. 

Surely the boy is hungry too? “How about some bread and butter, then we’ll go to bed?” Percival suggests.

Credence nods, then says, “I would greatly appreciate it. Thank you.”

He eats with great restraint, though Percival can tell by the way his ribs were obvious that he probably didn’t get nearly enough food back in New York. 

Once returned to the bedroom, far past Percival’s usual hour of retirement, Credence gives him a tiny glance that he takes to be a question of arrangement. Even now, the boy doesn’t seem to be comfortable sharing a space with him. Not yet. “There’s always the couch for me. I don’t mind, really,” Percival says.

“No! I mean, I just, it’s something I’ve dreamed of. Falling asleep in your arms. It’s hard to believe you’re real.”

Percival can’t help a soft chuckle. “I’m very real, my boy. Come now, the longer we wait, the colder it’ll get from the fire being out.” 

Credence nods jerkily, and then clambers under the covers, huddling on the far side of the bed. 

Percival is long used to spreading out on the entire mattress, but he doesn’t mind staying on either side. 

He lays down and closes his eyes, only to feel Credence snuggling closer, slowly, an inch at a time. 

Percival falls into the sweetest dreams he’s had in a while, thanks to the presence of his future spouse. 

* * *

Credence awakens, startling, for the feel of an embrace around him is still very new, but he relaxes back into the bed, melting into Percival’s arms. The first thing he wants to do after they have breakfast, presumably, is to explore the grounds, to learn more about his new home. 

Credence has only been allowed a few blocks from the church, to walk around and pass out fliers, so the idea of having so much open farmland to traverse is very exciting. He thinks about hearing Percival say good morning, and he smiles. The man’s accent is wonderful, far more interesting and attractive than he could have imagined. It seems ridiculous to even think about, but regardless, he finds himself sighing. 

He turns to his other side to watch Percival sleeping, his lashes fluttering over his freckled cheeks, one perfect grey and black curl is dipping down his forehead, barely touching one of his thick brows. 

Credence hardly feels like he deserves this man’s kindness, and yet, he has turned out to be far beyond his wildest dreams. Percival, a man equally aroused by another man, as he seemed intrigued by Credence’s female alias. It is an impossibility made flesh. 

“Hello, my darling. How radiant you look in the morning light,” Percival says, jarring Credence from his thoughts, and he feels his cheeks growing hot immediately. 

“God, forgive me for staring at you,” he murmurs. 

Percival smiles gently. “It’s quite alright. I suspect the sunshine is less than flattering to me, revealing all my wrinkles and moles.” 

Surely he is joking, Credence thinks. Percival doesn’t leave him time to protest, locking eyes with him, and leaning in so close he can count the individual lashes framing his warm eyes.

“May I kiss you?” Percival asks.

Credence blinks, gulping for breath. “Of course, please do.” 

So he is brought to full alertness like that, with Percival’s chapped but soft lips meeting his own, kissing him until he feels his heart beginning to race, and his body warming, cock growing alert, thickening under the borrowed sleep pants. 

“Credence, my boy, if we aren’t careful, I shall end up devouring you to break my fast. We cannot have that.” Percival sighs, sounding almost regretful, while pulling back from the kiss to rest his forehead on Credence’s, panting softly. He’s tempted to say it’s alright, he would greatly enjoy that. 

But the truth is, Credence is used to self-denial, daily. He’s also rather famished.

Their real breakfast comes and goes, then Percival takes him to his closet, and tells him, point-blank, whatever he wants to wear, is his. 

“If it won’t fit, let me know, and I can take it to be tailored, or a duplicate made.” Credence blinks. 

“You like me wearing your clothing? I do have some of my own, you know.” He might as well be speaking out of turn, he flinches out of instinct and waits for Percival to break, to slap him across the face. 

“I know. It feeds a kind of protective, possessive nature I have. Ever since you told me, ever since you asked that I promise I won’t mistreat you, I _knew_ , there was something terrible in your life. People who have hurt you. Well, Credence, I refuse to be one of those. I will not be an unhappy memory. When I’m gone, I wish for this time to be looked back on with fondness.” Percival looks sad and so earnest, it makes Credence’s eyes sting. 

“Don’t talk like that. As if you’re on death’s doorstep. I just got here.” 

Percival apologizes, and surges forward, pulling Credence into his arms, hugging him tightly. “I know, sweetheart, I know. I’m a fool. An old fool whose heart is in your beautiful hands. Promise me you’ll be careful with it?”

Credence nods, blinking away two perfect tears, and Percival kisses him, using his thumbs to gently wipe them away. “Come now, let me show you the rest of your new home.” 

The man takes his hand, linking their fingers together, and Credence follows, his feet sliding around only a little in his own ill-fitting boots. Percival takes him out past the porch, to the high grasses, all the way over to the edge of the fence, past which is a babbling creek, and then beyond that lies a thick forest. 

“That’s where you can hear the wild things whisper, at night. If you listen closely, even the wind speaks through the trees.” Percival sounds so poetic, Credence adores it. He could listen to the man talk all day.

“Pity I was so distracted last night,” he manages, voice cracking slightly on the last word.

Percival looks to him, gaze turning heated after appearing slightly shocked. “That is true, yes. I hope you can forgive me.”

The man is teasing him now, and his hand squeezes over Credence’s fingers. 

He swallows thickly. “Of course. Promise you will do it again?”

Percival exhales quickly, “If not for fear of dirtying these clothes, I would do it right here, right now.” 

Credence’s heartbeat speeds up, and he feels a whine crawling its way out of his throat. “I want to please you as you did to me. With my uh, my mouth.” 

He bites his lip, a blush forming on his face, possibly sneaking down his neck. 

Percival’s eyes seem to darken further. “Credence, you may bring about my early death with talk like this.” 

“How’s that?” Credence asks.

Percival laughs, sounding a touch out of breath. “Oh, my darling, you have no idea. There are so many things I wish to teach you. To show you just how intimate we can be.”

Credence leans in close, and Percival echoes the movement, so their mouths are nearly brushing against each other. “Can we, even as men, still become one? Like it says in Genesis two verse twenty-four?” 

Percival nods, licking his lips and catching Credence’s bottom lip in the process. He chases the contact, and they kiss for a long moment before breaking apart, and his stomach is still doing flips. 

“Credence, you must understand, it has to be done with great care, but yes, we can indeed cleave to one another, as one flesh.” He thinks deep down that he _knows_ , even if sodomy is called wrong as fornication, labeled a sin, between a married couple, is not everything of the carnal nature allowed? 

“I want to. I want to give myself to you. Make me holy by cleansing me with thy word.” Credence whispers and Percival shudders against him. “The truth is, my love, I desire for you to cleave to _me_.”

He doesn’t understand, not until the man takes one of his hands, and guides it around his waist, behind his back, to the curve of his backside, and lower, at the cleft, the seam of his pants. Credence squeaks, he can’t help it. He vaguely knows what it means. The only place for his body to be penetrated, besides his mouth. 

But he has imagined, in the silence of his own wicked mind, that Percival would be doing this. 

Having felt the girth of the man’s cock in hand, the weight of it, Credence has adjusted his fantasies to allow for some pain, to accept Percival inside of himself. Now? He must adapt yet _again_. 

Picturing the man beneath him, in front of him, moving how they did the night before, with heat and sweat and the sharing of breath, unbridled pleasure, the edge of marital intimacy, it’s enough to make Credence whimper.

“God, I am terrified that I will disappoint you, Percival. Surely I cannot last.” Merely thinking about it has his cock twitching, dampening the inner fabric of his pants with his excitement. 

Percival kisses him again and bites his bottom lip. 

It makes Credence jump, and cry out softly, for the next thing he knows, the man has put his other hand between his legs, cupping his erection, and licking into his mouth. 

“You make me want things, and the idea that they appeal to you is a miracle. You, Credence, are my miracle. A blessing I can still scarcely believe is real.” Percival pulls back, and lets go of him, leaving him shivering, horribly weak-kneed with lust. Credence stumbles after him, helpless as a newborn fawn, and Percival gives him a look that assures him they are not going to ignore this, they are returning to the house, and not for lunch. They still pass through the kitchen along the way, and Percival snags a bottle from the counter, filled with a green viscous looking liquid. Credence frowns at him, “Cooking oil? What’s that for?”

He gets a wink with the man’s reply. “So you can’t hurt me.”

Upon crossing the threshold into Percival’s bedroom once more, Credence feels the same tickle of nerves, but this time they mingle with a buzzing sort of excitement. He watches as the man undresses, a cold sweat breaking across the back of his neck, then quickly soaking into the borrowed shirt. 

Percival looks over at him, and ducks his head, making his dark curls shift, and Credence’s fingers itch to touch them. To pull on them as the man lets him inside of his body. 

But first… he wishes to have Percival’s cock in his mouth. Heavy on his tongue, like a carnal benediction. 

He walks over to the man’s side and then drops to his knees as Percival’s pants slide down his hips, pooling around his ankles. Credence leans forward, and rubs his cheek on one of the man’s broad thighs, sparsely covered with that same dark hair. “What are you-?” Percival starts, then his breath leaves him in a rush. “Ah, yes. You said you wanted… oh my darling, I confess, I have never seen such a thrilling sight in my life. With the exception of witnessing you reach orgasm last night.” 

Credence closes his eyes, more than a little embarrassed, before turning his head, and mouthing wetly over the hard line of Percival’s cock, hidden modestly inside his underthings. “Thank you.” 

He reaches up with both hands to slowly pull down the man’s remaining clothing, revealing his nudity, letting the hard flesh spring free, where it then smacks right into his cheek. Percival apologizes profusely, but Credence is letting himself be consumed by his desire for his future husband, delirious with want, his tongue lolls out, and drags up the length of heated flesh, till his nose is being tickled by those dark curls. 

“Credence, christ forgive me, you look like pure sin.”

He smiles dreamily, and loosens his jaw, leaning back before allowing Percival’s cock to slip inside his mouth, going until he feels in danger of choking. 

The man does not force himself deeper, instead, he holds still, letting Credence come to him, one hand cautious, resting on the crown of his head, fingers barely pressing onto his scalp. 

Percival’s cock tastes like sunshine feels, soothing, salty, and with a hint of sweat, despite them both being freshly bathed from the night before, there’s a hint of a scent that is all man. Credence adores it, feels anything but demeaned by his position on his knees. He might as well be praying, as he pleases Percival. So he does.

The simplest prayer he knows. 

_God in heaven, blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit your kingdom._

_Blessed are the strong, for they protect those who are weary._

_Forgive us all of our sins, for it’s in your name we pray._

_Amen._

Credence swallows the excess saliva that has formed in his mouth as he sucks firmly on Percival’s length, and he bobs his head a little, imitating what had been done to him, trying to seek out the best way to please him. When Percival lets out a strangled moan, warning him he’s growing close, and his legs may give out, Credence pulls back immediately. The man collapses onto the bed, and Credence follows. 

Before he can take Percival’s cock onto his tongue once again, he’s touching himself, white ropes spurting forward, catching Credence on the chin, over his wrist, and across his lips. 

“Forgive me, I lost myself in the moment, I could not hold back.”

“Oh! It’s quite alright.” Credence tells him, and it’s Percival’s turn to blush under scrutiny as he speaks.

“I hope you’re ready to take me because there is an ache inside of me only _that_ will satisfy.” 

Credence blinks and looks down at the man’s cock. He still appears hard, despite his copious release. “Ah-hh.”

Percival smiles weakly, and then lays back on the bed, legs splaying open, revealing the cleft between his thighs, where more hair hides his sensitive skin, and private spaces. Credence gets to his feet and strips himself methodically, missing how the man watches him, with dark eyes, and wet lips.

“Beautiful. Like a wicked angel, come down from heaven to corrupt me,” Percival murmurs, and Credence shakes his head, a tremor rippling down his spine.

“Never sir, never could I dream of such a thing.”

Percival shushes him gently and reminds him to get the oil. “Coat two fingers, maybe three. Touch me right here.” He drags his own fingertips along his cleft, and his head falls back onto the pillows, throat bared in a perfect curve.

Credence obeys, fetching the bottle and pouring a spoonful into his palm, warming it so that he does not startle Percival with the contact. He kneels on the bed between the man’s legs and follows where he’s been directed.

Credence dips two fingers into the small puddle of oil and then applies them to Percival’s cleft. 

The reaction is instantaneous, and more arousing than he could have thought possible. The man arches his back, and thrusts against Credence’s hand, pleading for more, with a broken, desperate sound leaving his throat. “More, yes, just like that. Should I roll over? Be on my knees for you?” Credence gasps. 

Percival sounds _wicked_ and looks painfully handsome like this, his still hard cock resting on his belly, smearing wetness on his skin, as Credence’s fingertip eases into the heat of him, past the first tight ring of muscle. 

“Not yet, please, let me kiss you.” Percival’s eyes open wide, and he finds Credence’s face, 

“Of course, darling. Anything you wish. Don’t stop, add another when you’re ready.” 

He lowers his body, looming over Percival, letting their lips collide in a frantic sort of kiss, and Credence does as he’s bidden. Two of his fingers curl into the man’s opening, and he suddenly fears he could spill himself from this alone. The hot clench of welcoming flesh, how Percival sounds when Credence’s fingertips rub his inner walls, it’s pure madness. 

The bliss he’s feeling cannot possibly be exceeded, yet there is his own cleaving to experience. Credence gulps.

Percival’s legs draw up, framing his waist, and Credence whines into the man’s mouth, feeling his cock beginning to drip onto the sheets from his arousal. 

“I’m ready for you to have me, Credence.” Percival bites him, the kiss having long been broken. The pain on his neck pulls Credence back from the edge, and he grits his teeth, nodding. 

He pulls his fingers out, still slick with oil, and wipes them on his left thigh, using the rest of the oil in his other hand over his own cock. Credence grips hard around the base of it, holding back, pushing away the climax that threatens to overtake him. Percival puts an end to the kissing by turning onto his side, then getting on all fours, pushing his backside purposefully into Credence’s groin. 

More oil smears across the man’s pale cheeks and Percival gasps aloud. 

“You’re going to mount me, and not stop until you’re fully inside, do you understand? It’s easiest this way.” 

Credence is frozen, kneeling where he is, forming a sideways tee with Percival’s body, his hands tremble as they reach for the man’s waist. He can’t think or speak, so he just sort of grunts in affirmation. 

Percival reaches back, a sure hand that grazes over Credence’s cock, jolting him to alertness, guiding him right to the heat of his cleft once more. “Go on, do it, my love.” 

Credence returns to his method of comfort, the verses. 

There is one such that applies, impossibly, somehow. From the other man's point of view.

As he thrusts forward, entering Percival’s body, just barely, Credence’s eyes squeeze shut, and he reaches forward, blindly grasping the man’s shoulder, the nape of his neck, then his throat. 

He feels his cock swallowed up by liquid heat, and he cries out, shivering from overwhelming pleasure. Credence cannot guarantee Percival feels the same, so he puts his other hand beneath the man’s waist, and finds his cock, with a palm wet with oil, it is a smooth gliding touch. 

_“His left hand is under my head, and his right hand doth embrace me.”_ Credence thinks to himself, and Percival groans, rocking back and forth with abandon, chasing his bliss, accepting the intrusion with great vigor. 

Credence can only do his best to make them one flesh, over and over, until his vision whites out, and he feels his hips jolting forward automatically, before stilling, as he focuses on his own orgasm. 

His cock spills into Percival, captured by that tight sheath of flesh, and Credence barely notices the warm slickness that drools between his fingers, against his palm, easing the strokes of the man’s cock. “Did you-”

Percival chokes the words out, barely, and Credence finds himself on the verge of a sob. “God, oh god, yes.”

He collapses over the man, and Percival doesn’t even protest the weight of him, he simply lays down flat, right onto the bed, uncaring of the mess they’ve made of the sheets. 

Credence feels the sweat on his back cooling, his cock growing soft, easing out from Percival’s body, as the milk and honey of his spend ooze down the man’s thighs, he breathes slowly, deep, feeling his heart settle. Percival gently urges him off to the side, and rolls onto his back, throwing a hand over Credence’s chest. 

He links their fingers together and laughs breathlessly. “My darling, you have killed me, in the best of ways.”

Credence manages a weak smile, before wincing at the stickiness on Percival’s chest and stomach. 

“Is it I who should suggest we bathe before dinner? Which I will be cooking,” Credence says, hoping he is injecting enough firmness into his voice, and yet Percival shushes him again with a finger to his cheek.

“Nonsense. That venison has kept. That reminds me though, how foolish of me. I neglected to show you the garden. Where we shall collect our fresh greens.” Credence blinks and squeezes Percival’s hand.

“It’s quite alright. I daresay you had… other things on your mind. Am I correct in guessing?” 

“When you are looking at me like that, it is always true. In fact, I would be glad to _take_ you in the garden, as long as we stayed clear of the rose bushes.” Percival says with a teasing smirk and Credence bites his lip.

“How wicked of a suggestion. I would let you, I think.” He tilts his head and is granted a kiss shortly after. They linger in the bed continuing to taste each other's lips for a few moments more, before staggering together to the bathroom, lest they end up stuck to the sheets for the rest of the afternoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this chapter, please consider leaving a comment and/or kudos! <3

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please consider leaving a comment and/or kudos <3


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